AFTER many a dusty mile, Wanderer, linger here awhile; Stretch your limbs in dewy grass; Through these pines a wind shall pass That shall cool you with its wing; Grasshoppers shall shout and sing; While the shepherd on the hill, Near a fountain warbling still, Modulates, when noon is mute, Summer songs along his flute; Underneath a spreading tree, None so easy-limbed as he, Sheltered from the dog-star's heat. Rest; and then, on freshened feet, You shall pass the forest through. It is Pan that counsels you. |